


Freeside

by Rambert



Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [9]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: American Politics, Arguing, Canon-Typical Behavior, Comfort/Angst, Confrontations, Cussing, Dialogue Heavy, Followers of the Apocalypse (Fallout), Gang Violence, Gritty, Holding Hands, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Law Enforcement, M/M, Military Ranks, Mojave Wasteland (Fallout), NCR | New California Republic, Non-Graphic Violence, POV First Person, Plotty, Post-Apocalypse, Spoilers, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rambert/pseuds/Rambert
Summary: Casey returns to the place where they grew up. [minor canon spoilers for various Freeside quests]Also I've since realized that I messed up the timeline for when Mr. House and the NCR take over the Strip, but let's just pretend it happened 40 years before it happens in the canon and then it all makes sense haha.
Relationships: Craig Boone/Courier (Fallout), Craig Boone/Non-Binary Courier
Series: The radicalization of Craig Boone [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085471
Kudos: 4





	Freeside

**Author's Note:**

> So I came across Boone's entire dialogue set here https://youtu.be/FfCryIXzomI 
> 
> just... look how validating his extra dialogue is to what I already wrote several parts ago lol: "Mercy killing is expected of NCR snipers. The Legion likes to torture their prisoners within sight of NCR positions. We get called on to end it. I've had my share. Some of them, you think... maybe you could have gotten them out. Maybe it's not the Legion that got them killed-- maybe it's your orders and you following them."
> 
> This character is BEGGING to be radicalized and I'm simply answering that call~

Traveling with the caravan is slow; it takes us two and a half days to reach the Follower's Outpost from Novac.

I realize that I've become a soft townie again, missing the hotel mattresses more than I'd thought I would. Mostly though I just miss Boone and I being able to have some semblance of privacy together.

Since we're always around the boisterous caravaneers, he hasn't initiated anything intimate with me. And I haven't pushed for it, but still... I really miss it a lot. Just simple stuff like holding hands or hugging or sitting close enough for me to lean my head on his shoulder as we're sitting together reading in the evenings... I miss it all so much as we trudge up the highway towards New Vegas.

Not to mention being next to each other on our own bedrolls is not at _all_ as nice as sharing a real bed.

So when we reach the Outpost at last I'm excited to deliver this package and turn right back around and go home. The Crimson Caravan will be continuing on to Freeside, to their headquarters, but we won't need them to get back to Novac safely. If anything Boone and I have been protecting the caravan, not the other way around.

Walking up the steps to the Outpost's main door, I nod at the armed guard posted outside.

"I have a package to deliver to one Dr. Alvarez of the Followers of the Apocalypse, sent by Ignacio Rivas from HELIOS One," I say, holding up the package in question.

It's much smaller than I'd thought such an important delivery could be, but my guess is it's either a single rare piece of tech or maybe a holotape containing classified data. It's tightly sealed, but weighs next to nothing in my hands.

"...Dr. Alvarez isn't here," the guard says slowly, looking at the package. "She left to go back to the Old Mormon Fort yesterday to help fix their com radio. Would you like to leave the package here, or does it need to go to her directly?"

"It needs to go to her directly," I say as my stomach sinks-- these courier jobs _never_ seem to go as smoothly as promised. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Not for a few days at least," the guard says apologetically. "Your best bet would probably be to stick with the Caravan; they're going to Freeside also."

"Guess I'll do that," I sigh, putting the package back into my pack as I go back to where Boone is waiting by the road.

He's noticed I haven't handed off the package and frowns. "What's wrong, Case?"

"The package recipient isn't here. She's gone to Freeside," I say in irritation. "Which means the job isn't over yet after all."

\--

Freeside is a place the NCR wishes didn't exist, because like its emancipated cousin Westside, the local residents are extremely resentful of the so-called New California Republic existing as far East as Nevada. And unlike its emancipated cousin Westside, the locals of Freeside aren't above getting themselves bloody on some low-level NCR patrol recruits when they're feeling particularly bitter and vengeful about the violent and forceful occupation of the Republic on their lands.

The luxury and decadence of the Strip never reaches Freeside-- only its buzzing neon glow, as if to taunt the citizens just outside the walls who have to live on less. People starve to death here, dying of all sorts of preventable illnesses or injuries related to unsafe chem use and prolonged exposure to radiated water or the dry desert heat.

Meanwhile, NCR troopers get drunk and gamble on the Strip, never leaving the Embassy's corridor which just so happens to be heavily guarded by trigger-happy Securitrons on _both_ sides of its walls. Except for the patrols, who are the ones harassing locals by brutishly enforcing a mandatory curfew.

And that's supposed to be a good thing how, exactly? Who is served by this "law and order"? Not Freeside, that's for fucking sure.

But Freeside lacks the resources to organize the way that Westside has, and most of that is due to places like The Atomic Wrangler and Mick & Ralph's seeking to sell people more harm than help. Difficult to rally the people when half of them are flat broke from the casinos, and the other half are sick from withdrawals and spending their only money on their next fix.

The Followers of the Apocalypse attempting to "clean up" Freeside is going about as well as "cleaning up" sand in the desert with nothing but a push broom could go, but they still keep trying and I do respect them for that. Strangely enough I've never gone to the Old Mormon Fort myself before this trip, but I've seen many people in bad shape get taken there.

I've heard that tensions between Freeside locals and the NCR have only escalated in recent years despite the NCR's insistence that their presence in the area is "helpful"; sure, they hand out food and supplies but only to citizens of the NCR. If you declare yourself independent in Freeside the NCR relief efforts won't give you a damn thing and will punish you for "stealing" from them, even if it's just a drink of fucking water from the functioning pipe they immediately colonized as soon as they occupied the area "for our safety".

More like they needed that water to keep up their pathetic little greenhouses running on excessive generator outputs because they don't understand how to actually farm here-- gee, I _wonder why_.

And the troops at McCarran are far more interested in having pissing contests with Fiends-- which only incites them further to violence that threatens locals-- than actually helping the people they're forcibly annexing into the NCR. It makes me sick.

Part of why I'd felt nothing when my Strip passport had expired last month is because I'd decided I never wanted to come back here if I could avoid it, even if that meant never getting even with Benny.

I was born smack dab between Freeside and Westside by the old H&H Tools factory, in the fortified NV Square. It's a goddamned depressing mess of a place, constantly overrun by Fiends too chicken to go to take on the Rangers at McCarran, and I'm glad I got out. I haven't spoken with my immediate family in years, and as far as I know they're still there.

My Mojave Express job paid far worse than the Van Graffs, but at least when I took it I didn't have to live in Freeside any more and witness my friends and neighbors get roughed up or gunned down or imprisoned every night after curfew.

Gloria was sad to see me leave as I'd been a dedicated employee of hers for years, but she said she understood why-- that I was "too sweet a boy for Freeside". At the time I took it as a compliment being newly transitioned since she'd known me growing up, but now I can't help wondering if she meant I was too soft for the hard life Freeside requires you to stomach day after day.

I learned to kill or be killed, here, and though I avoided ever taking a life and made it nearly three decades without having to, I found that once I killed in self-defense I was caught in the same web all killers are: constant retribution. If Ignacio had originally asked me to come here, I would have asked him to send someone else. Anyone else. I wish I was back in Novac.

"You all right, Casey?"

I realize I've stopped and am standing in place on the road holding my breath, and I exhale forcefully. My chest feels tight, the way it does when I'm anxious.

"I'm... from here. Lost-- too many people growing up. I didn't... brace myself for coming back," is all I can say.

"..." Boone steps close to me and takes my hands in his for the first time in several days, and all of a sudden I want to collapse into him and cry.

But the caravan is already moving too far away. I squeeze Boone's hands, sighing gratefully for the comfort. Yet I can't help taking a restless step as I watch them up ahead over his shoulder.

"Thank you. I'll be fine," I insist, though my insides still feel stretched-tight and air isn't quite filling my lungs when I inhale.

"Elliott," Boone says quietly, waiting for me to look at him before he continues.

"You don't always have to be fine... you're the one who taught me that," he says as he squeezes my hands back.

I'm unable to speak past the lump in my throat, and then find that I want nothing more in the world than to lean into Boone's rock-solid chest. So I do, and he lets me, releasing my hands in order to better cradle my shoulders and head in a protective hug.

And he doesn't suggest we get going for several minutes.

\--

Dr. Alvarez apologizes for making us come up all this way-- "I usually never leave the Outpost, which is likely why Ignacio assumed I'd be there, but there's been a malfunction with the primary radio comlink and no one else could fix it so they sent a runner for me two days ago, begging me to help."

"I know what that's like," I say with a chuckle, handing over the package in exchange for the caps I'd been promised. "Don't worry about it."

I'm still itching to go home as soon as possible, but Boone comforting me earlier was a huge help. And I noticed there's one tent here in the Mormon Fort compound with just two beds, seemingly unoccupied, so I ask if we can use that one tonight-- it's already getting dark.

"I don't see why not if no one's stuff is in there, but you'd best double check with Julie first just in case," Dr. Alvarez says.

After giving Dr. Farkas the Med-X that Boone salvaged for us months ago as a donation to "pay" for our stay in lieu of caps, I ask if the two-bed tent is available.

"Oh, sure," she says, distracted as someone else is already waiting to ask her a question. "Was that all?"

"Yes, thanks so much for putting us up here," I say, waving as I walk away.

I feel a little bad for her with how busy and exhausted she must get, but her eyes have that clear burning passion of someone doing their life's true work. She's fine.

Once Boone and I are inside the tent, I tie the door flaps closed and knot them even though no one else here is doing that.

"You're gonna get us in trouble," Boone mutters from where he's sitting on one of the beds, but he's watching me and making no move to stop what I'm doing.

"I don't care," I say curtly as I finish up and then join him, sighing as I scoot close and lean into his shoulder.

"It's been days since I've had even a speck of privacy with you and I'm starved for it."

Boone chuckles low in his throat as his arm winds around my back, his hand resting comfortably on my hip. I sigh in satisfaction as I get to close my eyes and lean into him and finally _relax_ for the first time in days.

"Can't wait to go home with you," I say wistfully, and I feel Boone hold me a little tighter.

He doesn't have to say anything for me to understand his agreement.

\--

In the early pre-dawn darkness I bolt awake upright next to Boone, hearing frantic voices and someone yelling like they're in pain.

"Boone, wake up," I hiss, patting him on the back twice before hopping up to fumble around for my Pip Boy and use the flashlight to untie the tent's door knots.

"What--" Boone groans, still half-asleep, but as he rubs his face he hears the commotion and becomes alert.

"You think it's an attack?" he asks in an undertone, and I shake my head.

"No, I think someone got injured and has been taken here to try and stop their death," I say.

Unfortunately, I'm right.

A young local named Farris has been stabbed following an altercation in the street, and NCR soldiers are the suspected culprit according to those who were there with him.

Farris is in the Kings gang, headed up by a mostly harmless middle-aged weirdo who dubs himself "The King" and tries to look like some greaser who apparently lived before the bombs. I don't get the aesthetic, but the Kings are mostly just Freeside locals who stick to themselves besides skirmishes with NCR.

They apparently tried to take on the Van Graffs once, a thought that still amuses me because I simply cannot imagine it to be true, but it happened when I was a teenager according to Gloria. Now the Kings focus on their "Impersonation School", a.k.a. their home base turned into a greaser styling factory full of pin-up girls and wifebeater boys.

I haven't ever spoken with "The King", not being interested in joining his silly little gang, but when Dr. Farkas asks who can go speak with him on behalf of Farris and no one in the camp immediately speaks up I find myself volunteering. Boone gives me a surprised look, but I shrug: guess I can't stop myself from being useful even when I desperately want to leave.

Things aren't looking good for Farris though. They've packed the wounds and given him some Med-X for the pain and an IV for fluid, but unfortunately the Followers no longer have a surgeon on staff at the moment.

"Our only one, Dr. Henry, left last year and never came back," Dr. Farkas says with a sigh. "At this point I'm starting to think he doesn't intend to return. And we cannot afford to hire Dr. Usanagi, even if she wasn't already busy."

She says she'd go and speak with The King herself but she doesn't want to leave Farris's side.

"I've known Farris since we were kids," she says sadly, holding his limp hand in hers. "I can't leave him like this."

"Freeside is hell, isn't it," I say quietly, and her eyes fill with tears.

"I'm gonna find the ones responsible for this, I promise," I say, and Julie sniffles, wiping her face with her free hand.

"You might-- want to speak with Major Elizabeth Kieran then, on the squatter side of town," she says, clearing her throat.

"Where they do the food handouts. She might know which of the recruits from the patrols are getting too rowdy and be able to reign them in-- if she doesn't want to listen to you right away, just mention my name, she's a friend of mine."

"Thanks for the tip," I say, intrigued by this new information-- normally the Followers stay neutral with the NCR, but it seems like Dr. Farkas has her foot in the door after all.

\--

After breakfast Boone and I head towards the Kings' Impersonation School first, as it's just around the corner on the same block as the Old Mormon Fort.

"Fucked up that the recruits are still harassing people just for being out at night," I say angrily, jamming my hands in my jacket pockets as we walk.

"If locals are picking fights over curfew with trained soldiers that's their choice," Boone starts, and I scowl.

"Locals _don't_ pick the fights though, the soldiers do! We're on my turf now, Boone, and here the NCR has done nothing but bother us and treats people like dirt. This is _not_ like the front lines you're used to out in the wasteland."

Just then, someone wearing tattered rags peels themselves off the wall they'd been leaning against and totters up to us. They've got the trademark bloodshot eyes and dead stare of someone hooked on chems.

"Spare s'm caps?" they slur, their wrinkled face haggard and gaunt.

"Here you go," I say, taking out a handful of caps from my pack to drop into their open palms. "You have a beautiful day, okay? Remember to drink some water."

"Bless you," they say before shuffling away.

"So that's why you're always broke," Boone mutters, and I glare at him.

"I'm serious Boone, if you're going to stay on the NCR's side here you-- you can march right on back to Novac."

"...You don't mean that," Boone says slowly, fixing me with an uncomfortable stare I'm not enjoying in the slightest.

"I do," I say, hurt that it's even coming to this point between us.

"This is my home, and my people, and I won't listen to you disrespect them in the name of the goddamned NCR who wouldn't even help you save your wife."

"Hn." Boone visibly bristles, but follows me the rest of the way to the Kings' headquarters without another word.

\--

I actually like "The King" more than I'd thought I would, considering what I'd grown up hearing about him.

Sure, his voice is goofy and his hair looks ridiculous, but I get honest vibes from the man. He just wants his people safe same as anyone local in Freeside does, giving both the Fiends and the NCR a wide berth and trusting neither.

When I tell him about Farris he's livid, and offers me two hundred caps to get information for him. I tell him the truth, that I'm already investigating it for free on Dr. Farkas's info and just passing on the word to him as a favor to her. He insists on giving me the caps anyway "for bein' such a stand-up guy".

"That dude is surprisingly decent," I comment to Boone as I lead the way down the street. "I don't know what I was expecting from him, but not that."

"That dog was scary as fuck though," Boone points out, and I laugh and have to agree.

"Yeah, the whole exposed brain thing was gnarly, but Rex is a sweetie." I'd been unable to resist giving Rex some ear scratches, which he'd loved.

"For a medical abomination, sure," Boone snorts. "But you gotta admit he's intimidating."

"Well yeah, that's kinda why gang leaders like to get guard dogs," I chuckle. "Not for them to look cute."

We fall quiet as the rubble gets worse and we have to watch our footing more to navigate; we've entered the squatter side of town, out behind the Atomic Wrangler. Freeside is full of people living outside, but here is where they congregate because this is where the NCR hands out food to its citizens-- basically, anyone who is willing to submit to the NCR's authority in the area. Some locals would rather not have to worry about where their next meal comes from and are willing to deal with the curfews, so that works out for them.

But the problems come when locals who are anti-NCR come up demanding rations, and won't take no for an answer. Then the NCR relief workers call in the troopers to forcibly eject the locals from the area, sometimes even to arrest and jail them at the Embassy. And the sick cycle of violence continues.

"Over here," I say to Boone, pointing out two NCR troopers guarding the abandoned building that's been repurposed for food handouts.

"What's the password?" one of the troopers asks as we walk up, gun drawn and pointed at us.

"I'm here to speak with Major Elizabeth Kieran," I say in a clipped voice, _not_ appreciating the way we're already being treated like criminals simply for approaching.

"...Guess if they're here to see the Major, it's okay," the other soldier says to the first, who uncertainly lowers their weapon.

"All right yeah, you can pass."

Inside there's a small dining area where people are sitting and eating observed by more armed guards. At the back is the food shop where Major Elizabeth Kieran is standing, easily recognizable by uniform. I walk up to the counter immediately, and the Major gives us a thin-lipped smile.

"Welcome. Are you citizens of the NCR?"

"Yes," Boone answers before I can. "Former First Recon sniper."

"Ah, a veteran-- thank you for your service. Please, help yourselves to food and water."

"Do you serve locals too?" I ask, knowing I won't like the answer.

Boone's giving me a _stop that_ look and I am ignoring him.

"Unfortunately not at this time," the Major says in a placating yet also condescending tone, and I prickle.

"And why is that?" I press on.

The Major sighs. "Even if I wanted to serve everyone in Freeside-- and I don't-- we simply don't have enough supplies to go around."

 _Bullshit_ , I think to myself before saying "Could be that certain people don't like the NCR around here because they keep getting stabbed and shot by patrols."

"What are you talking about? One of _my_ envoys was brutally beaten by the Kings!" the Major says angrily.

"The violence will continue if you keep putting unnecessary rules in place for Freeside like deciding who's worthy of food based on political alliance," I sneer, and Major Kieran looks past me at Boone.

"So this is the kind of rifraff a First Recon veteran hangs out with, huh?"

"Rifraff?!"

"Let me handle this Casey," Boone says suddenly, and he reaches up to briefly touch my elbow-- the closest part of me to him.

The physical contact in front of the Major and everyone else in the room startles me into silence as Boone continues.

"Major Kieran, I don't know where all you've served, but I've been out in the wasteland fighting Legion for years and this _isn't_ what I've been fighting for. What right do you have to treat these people this way? The Republic is supposed to be representing safety and unity, and you've turned Freeside into a war zone."

The Major flinches away from Boone's harsh tone, her lip curling.

"I'd like to ask you both to leave," she says sharply, and the guards by the door start to advance on us with their guns drawn.

"W-wait!" I cry out, remembering. "Dr. Farkas sent us!"

"...Julie sent you?" The Major's facial expression changes so quickly that it's almost disturbing.

"Well why didn't you lead with that?"

"We shouldn't have had to," Boone snaps nastily, and I can't help smiling a little despite the situation.

Boone telling off a higher-ranking officer of the NCR? If you'd told me this would happen back when I first met him I would have laughed and said no way.

"Look, we don't need your rations. We're really here investigating which of your patrols is responsible for nearly killing someone last night. The victim nearly bled out at the Old Mormon Fort. That's why Dr. Farkas sent us over," Boone says.

"Oh... I understand now," the Major says, a pained expression on her face. "I did wonder why a few of my patrol men missed roll this morning..."

"Yeah," I say, eager to jump back in now that Boone has gotten things back on track. "So if you promise to address that and stop allowing your recruits to terrorize Freesiders, then I'll go back to The King and tell him he's got problems to deal with on his end as well. But I know he doesn't want trouble with the NCR."

"Mm. The envoy definitely reached his headquarters," the Major replies tersely as she folds her arms. "I'll send a new group over tomorrow afternoon to renegotiate, and will look into the behavior of my patrols. Is that all, then?"

"Yes," says Boone, sounding relieved. "Thank you Major," he adds with a crisp salute.

"No problem," she says in an icy tone implying anything but.

\--

As soon as we're back outside and out of earshot of the troopers I crow with laughter.

"She was so _mad_ at you!"

"Shut up," Boone says, but he's smirking. "You were digging yourself a hole so big it's amazing we still got what we needed out of her."

"I can't believe _you_ took a stand with _me_ against the NCR." I'm grinning from ear to ear.

"Is it really that unpredictable of me?" Boone asks, and I guffaw.

"Uh, yeah! You were _just_ defending them on our way to see The King."

"Well, I'm capable of changing my mind."

"Clearly," I say, feeling bold enough to reach for his hand as we walk now that we're back on the flat streets-- and he takes it.

I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

"Thank you," I say as I squeeze his hand. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"We're a team," Boone says as if it's the most obvious thing, his thumb tracing over my knuckles as he squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> this one got long and so I just kinda ended it abruptly cuz I got tired of doing plot lol but there's still so much more I have planned... just figuring out how I wanna do it and having to read 8,000 wiki pages in the process :D


End file.
